


duly noted

by Trickster88



Series: i started a joke that started the whole world crying [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Irondad, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, laced drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster88/pseuds/Trickster88
Summary: “You’re okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter says gently, cluelessly, and Tony coughs, trying to get the words out - that Peter needs to panic, needs to call someone or several someone’s, that this isn’t just food poisoning or something - because if someone managed to get close enough to drug Tony in his own damn Tower, there’s aserious problem. “It’s probably just - ““Peter, Peter,” Tony’s words are slurring together, and his eyes feel heavy - hecannotfall asleep, no no no - and he grabs Peter’s forearms, shaking him (or is Tony the one shaking?) “Something - someone - I’ve been - been drugged.”*Written for the prompt 'laced drink' for Whumptober 2019.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i started a joke that started the whole world crying [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502663
Comments: 15
Kudos: 358





	duly noted

**Author's Note:**

> Who's still the clown doing Whumptober oh it's me?? Fair warning that this is totally unbeta'd.
> 
> Written for the prompt 'laced drink' for Whumptober 2019.

Tony knows something’s wrong about thirty minutes into the R&D presentation.

If he’s being honest, he thinks he knew something was wrong like, ten minutes in, but one glance at Peter by his side had put him at ease. The kid had a built in danger radar, and he wore his emotions on his face so transparently it would have been laughable if it weren’t so endearing. Peter’s been full of nervous energy today - leg bouncing, biting his nails, the whole nine yards - but he doesn’t look like he’s sensing anything wrong. 

But there’s _ definitely _ something wrong.

Tony’s head starts to feel fuzzy fifteen minutes in, almost with the slow, creeping intensity of a migraine - except it doesn’t hurt, it just feels thick, like a weighted blanket on his brain. Peter leans over and whispers something Tony can’t focus on - something sarcastic no doubt, about the sentient toaster or whatever-the-fuck new innovation these bright minds have cooked up next (the smart fridge was _ dumb_, but sold decently well, so).

It takes him another ten minutes to realize he feels _ drunk _ (which...says something about how high-functioning he’d been before he quit drinking).

“Peter,” Tony whispers - or he thinks he whispers, but the marketing intern turns around to look at him, so maybe it wasn’t as quiet as he’d hoped. Peter inclines his head towards him, eyes still on the presentation. Tony reaches out with a hand that feels too heavy for his body and clasps Peter’s shoulder. The boy finally turns to look at him with those wide, brown eyes of his, and Tony clutches at his shoulder, tight.

“Get me out of here.” That one _ is _ a whisper, an intense one that can’t fully hide Tony’s building panic, and Peter only hesitates for a split-second before complying. He stands up, subtly helping Tony out of his seat (okay, yeah, he’s swaying like the gondola ride at Coney Island, _ something’s wrong_), and looping Tony’s arm over his shoulders when they finally make it out to the hallway (thank God Tony always insists on sitting at the back of the room to brook quick exits).

“I think - I think I’m -” He wants to say _ drugged_, but his stomach rolls and Tony groans, closing his eyes. “Bathroom. Toilet. Gonna puke.”

“Oh shit,” Peter says, ever the eloquent one, diverting them towards the closest bathroom. They burst into the stall, and Tony practically collapses to his knees on the hard tile, stomach heaving as it all comes up. There isn’t much - he’s not exactly a _ breakfast person _ \- but the coffee and bile stains the bowl a dark brown (not really a _ half and half _ person either). Peter rubs a comforting hand down the line of his back, a slow circle, and something that just screams of May Parker’s tenderness.

“You’re okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter says gently, cluelessly, and Tony coughs, trying to get the words out - that Peter needs to panic, needs to call someone or several someone’s, that this isn’t just food poisoning or something - because if someone managed to get close enough to drug Tony in his own damn Tower, there’s a _ serious problem_. “It’s probably just - “

“Peter, Peter,” Tony’s words are slurring together, and his eyes feel heavy - he _ cannot _fall asleep, no no no - and he grabs Peter’s forearms, shaking him (or is Tony the one shaking?) “Something - someone - I’ve been - been drugged.”

Tony expects panic. He expects fear and confusion. 

He doesn’t expect Peter’s sad little smile. He doesn’t expect to hear “I’m sorry.” out of the kid’s mouth.

And the last thing Tony expects, as the horrible, confusing, utterly blindsiding realization that _ Peter _ was the one who roofied him (_Peter brought me the coffee_…), is to pass out, Peter’s face blurring out of his vision, into darkness.

But that’s what happens.

***

Tony wakes up in a fireman’s carry, feeling like ass. He wishes he could say it’s a new low for him, but it’s not - and Tony Stark is a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar. Tony grunts, clearing his throat - his mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls, and it tastes terrible - yet again, not unfamiliar.

“H-ey.” Tony rasps, re-finding his voice - his body feels weak, arms dangling over someone’s back, and Tony struggles to regain fine motor control. “_Hey_.”

“Oh,” That’s Peter’s voice, sounding shockingly nonchalant, and that’s about when Tony realizes they’re moving. Peter is...not running, but speed walking...somewhere. “Hey.”

“_Hey?!” _ Tony’s annoyance sharpens his tone, brings his voice back a little stronger, and he can’t see it, but he can feel Peter’s wince. Yeah, no _ shit _ he’s in trouble.

“Look, uh, don’t freak out.” Peter practically pleads, as though Tony is in any way going to listen to him. “Everything’s under control.”

“_What the fuck_?” Tony growls, and he wants to demand to be put down, wants a fucking answer - and somewhere, in the back of his brain, he wants to be hurt, he wants the space to be deeply upset that Peter, of _ all people, _would do something like this.

He didn’t think the kid had it in him, and he hates that he can’t help but worry about it (betrayal _ burns _on the way down).

“Mr. Stark, I - “ Peter’s words are cut off by a spray of bullets - he dodges them expertly, jumping and kicking off the wall to propel them down the next side hallway. He executes the maneuver with ease, and no indication of difficulty while still carrying Tony.

“Sorry,” Peter says, so infuriatingly casually, like they’d just been interrupted by a phone call. He’s running now, though, so at least there’s that. 

“Who was that?” Tony demands, trying to sound as angry as he felt, which was difficult when he had to close his eyes against the next wave of nausea. Rohypnol - assuming that’s what Peter used, or at least close to it - can last up to six hours so unfortunately, Tony knows he’s pretty much down for the count.

“Our kidnappers,” The kid can’t keep saying shit like that with such _ ease_, or Tony’s going to _ lose his goddamn mind _(even more than he already has).

“Explain. Right now.” He tries, again, to sound commanding, but he knows it just sounds kind of desperate. Peter takes another corner, navigating them somewhere - or at least away from some_thing_.

“I was on my way in this morning and these totally weird dudes grabbed me like right off the subway,” Peter begins, and Tony’s stomach _ lurches _ at the thought. “But I wasn’t in the suit, so I just went along with it. They wanted me to drug you so they could kidnap you, and they said they’d kill me if I didn’t do it, which like, whatever - “

_ Whatever_. Tony’s gonna fucking kill him when he can stand up under his own power again, Jesus Christ.

“ - but they also said they had bombs in the building, and I didn’t know if that was true? So I figured it was probably better not to risk it.” 

Tony hates to admit it - believe him, he does - but it makes sense. It’s what he would have done (well, he’s not sure he could _ drug Peter _ and allow him to be kidnapped, but Tony would have 100% sacrificed _ himself_). Still, he’d be remiss if he didn’t protest. “And you didn’t tell me any of this when it happened _ because_?”

“You would have tried to stop me,” Peter shrugs, the movement of his shoulders lifting Tony up and down. Tony sighs, long-suffering - Peter’s got him there.

“Maybe you _ should have been _stopped.” Tony doesn’t need to see Peter’s face to feel the way the kid almost rolls his eyes - but he can also feel the guilt emanating from him, too, so Tony tries to swallow down the upset. “So where the hell are we?”

“I think we’re at AIM.” Peter skids to a stop by a door that leads to a stairwell - it’s locked, but he breaks it open with one hand and then they’re going again - up, towards the roof, it seems. “Not sure. I pretended to panic when they tried to take you, so they hit me with their gun and I pretended to conk out, and that got them to take me too.”

Peter’s a little bastard genius, and Tony struggles between feeling proud and _ pissed_. He can be both, can’t he?

“Are you really mad?” The kid asks nervously, after a long beat of silence, the only sounds his feet, slapping on the concrete steps as he propels them up, floor by floor. Tony stifles a sigh, because that singular question is enough to take the wind right out of his sails. 

“No,” Tony squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying valiantly not to chuck. The up and down motion of Peter’s stair-stepping isn’t helping. “No, Pete, I’m not - “

Tony cuts off in frustration, and the next words out of his mouth - he’s not sure why he says them, why he admits it. Blame it on the drugs. But he says: “I’m _ scared_, kid.”

The admission takes Peter by surprise (almost as much as it does Tony), and he almost falters on a step before continuing, up and up. Tony thinks he hears a door open, far below them, but Peter doesn’t stop to find out. “It’s gonna be okay, Mr. Stark, really I - “

“No, Pete,” Tony cuts him off, tapping a hand against Peter’s back. He’s starting to be able to move his limbs again, thank God. “I’m not scared for _ me_. I’m scared for _ you_. You went lone wolf on this one and - yeah, sure, maybe everything might end up fine. Doesn’t mean it’s any less terrifying to - to be _ helpless _and watch you do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter’s voice softens, and this time, Tony knows he means it. “I - I guess I just felt like I didn’t have much of a choice. And it - I felt like it would be safer if I was with you.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” Tony replies gently, and for the briefest second, he feels a wave of ridiculous laughter bubbling in his stomach - this probably isn’t a conversation they should be having while Tony’s facing Peter’s butt (and that says a lot about a) his twelve-year-old sense of humor and b) their lives). “I can save myself, kid.”

“But you shouldn’t always have to.” They reach the top of the stairwell and Peter breaks through the next door, taking them out into open air. He turns around and twists the handle with a _ screech _of metal - who knows how long it’ll hold, but at least there’s an obstacle. 

Tony didn’t expect to have his own lessons parroted back at him today, but he can’t deny them. Peter finally sets him down, leaning up against the brick wall that marks the edge of the building. Tony watches blearily as the kid starts taking off his clothes - but the suit is on underneath, and Peter slips his mask on and webs his clothes behind the air conditioner in seconds flat.

“Can I save you, Mr. Stark?” Peter offers, one hand extended, the lenses on his mask widening as they adjust to the light. Tony - he can’t help but smile, because it feels so innocent, so light-hearted. The kid was unbelievably infuriating sometimes, but he means well. Tony takes the proffered hand, allowing Peter to haul him up to his feet. 

“Fine. But for future reference, when I swoon, I prefer bridal carry. Just ask Steve.” Peter snorts, lifting one arm to shoot his web, the other wrapping securely around Tony.

“Duly noted, sir.” 

Peter jumps off the roof with no further warning, and Tony can’t help the startled yell that the sensation rips from his chest - freefalling with nothing to stop them, until the stomach-dropping _ swoop _of Peter’s webbing catches them.

_ If I had to be rescued_, Tony can’t help but think, as Peter lets out a whoop and shoots another line of web. _ I’m glad it’s Spiderman_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I write Spiderman with no hyphen for the aesthetic.
> 
> Follow my writing blog at [thwip--thwip](http://thwip--thwip.tumblr.com) for more debatably decent content.  
[Rebloggable link](https://thwip--thwip.tumblr.com/post/189046168610/duly-noted) <3
> 
> Comment if you liked it! Love you all 3000.


End file.
